


The Nightingale and the Rose

by ClaryF



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Based on the Susan Kay story, Character Death, Erik's story, Forbidden Love, Other, Romance, Tragic Romance, i was bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryF/pseuds/ClaryF
Summary: Once there was a beautiful white Rose and a humble Nightingale. Their love was forbidden but not even the dangerous throne upon her stem could deter them.





	The Nightingale and the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I just felt like writing this because I was bored nad procrastinating from actual work. It's quite short but I hope you enjoy it!

There was once a beautiful white Rose (there were only white roses at the time) that bloomed one spring morning. She shone above all her sisters, not a single flaw amongst her pristine petals, her leaves the most dazzling green and her thorns the sharpest of shields. Her purity was radiant as she stretched proudly towards the sun, basking in its warmth. Every day she would dance with the gentle winds, twisting and turning with a skip in her step and laughter bubbling in her soul.

One day, as she laughed with her sisters, she heard the most beautiful sound she had ever encountered. It was as if the angels themselves had descended to the earthly plane to spread the Word to the derisible world below. The song echoed across hills and valleys enchanting all who were blessed to hear it. The rose turned towards the sound and saw a Nightingale singing to the sky. Its head was as black as night, its chest a silver beauty that sparkled in the light, its beak as bright and orange as the sun. It sang and sang and sang, and the Rose melted under its brilliance. Her sisters giggled and flirted but he paid them no mind, too encased in his own mind to see much else.The song radiated longing and sadness and… love. She wondered what bird was lucky enough to hold the heart of such a lovely creature and felt a corner of her heart brimming with jealousy.

What she didn’t know was that the Nightingale was singing to her. He had seen her the day she had unfurled her petals for the first time and was instantly bewitched. Never had he seen such a stunning being, never had heaven blessed the earth with a true piece of itself. He flew away as quickly as possible, knowing no blackbird could ever dream of attracting such a lovely creature, even if her deadly thorns did not protect her from any harm.

It was many days before he drew the courage to see her again, even if only from a distance. She was dancing with the warm southern wind, though the only song was the one in her soul, and urged on by some dangerous hope, he began to sing. He poured out his heart and soul into the peace. He sang only for her, begging for her to her how much he loved her and wanted her despite the fact that they could never be. He sang until he became exhausted and then sang some more. 

The sun was setting in the sky when he finally looked at her, desperately hoping that she might grace him with a look but did not expect her to be staring at him, swaying to his music. It was at that moment that he knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her too. 

In a desperate frenzy, the Nightingale flew to her, spreading his wings towards the sky as his song built to its final crescendo and as the final note pierced the silence he embraced her. The Rose stared in horror as she felt a thorn pierce the Nightingale’s heart and cried as he fell, the final note of his love dying with him. His blood covered her pristine, white petals, dyeing them bright red, a stark reminder of their forbidden love. Her tears poured and fell to the warm soil beneath her and where they intermingled with the Nightingale’s blood small, red blooms of young roses would then grow, a new life created from the ultimate sacrifice.

And so the red rose was born of blood and tears, of a love so unlikely that it would never be seen again. A flower that would be a symbol of undying passion between two lovers for centuries to come. An eternal love between a Nightingale and a Rose.


End file.
